


Nothing I Wouldn't Do for You

by ASweetTemptation



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Molly, BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Molly is in Danger, Protective Sherlock, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASweetTemptation/pseuds/ASweetTemptation
Summary: The gun is pointed straight at Molly’s head and for a moment the world stops spinning.He threw a man out of a window for harming Mrs Hudson; he shot a man in the face in cold murder for threatening to harm Mary; and this vile creature has now threatened his Molly. Sherlock only sees rage.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 17
Kudos: 144





	Nothing I Wouldn't Do for You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first Sherlolly fic that I have posted on here. My first fanfic that I've wrote in a very long time.  
> Will also be posting on Wattpad if that's your preference!

The gun is pointed straight at Molly’s head and for a moment the world stops spinning.

Molly’s eyes widen as she takes in her surroundings and she very subtly moves Rosie so she stands just behind her. It doesn’t seem real, that only moments before she had been spinning Rosie around the dance floor, grinning at the little girls infectious laughter. 

Gasps and cries of outrage sound from around her as dancers usher each other off of the dance floor until they are making a circle around the man with the gun and Molly. 

Her eyes glance briefly in the direction of where she knows Sherlock is standing. His body is rigid and she wonders if he’s even breathing. His eyes are trained on the man whose pointing the gun at her. His arms raised slightly in surrender. 

Next to him, John has pulled out his own gun, breathing heavily as he looks between the unknown man and Molly. Fear in his eyes and Molly pulls Rosie behind her just a little bit more. 

"It’s interesting, isn’t it, Mr Holmes?” The man asks. 

“What is?” Sherlock says, his voice calm as he takes a small step forward. 

“What happens when you point a gun at something so important to Sherlock Holmes.” 

Molly is sure that she can see Sherlock flinch ever so slightly. 

‘Not important,’ she says and the assailant’s eyes flick to her. He laughs – it’s cruel and makes her heart clench. 

‘So very interesting that he made you think that, Molly Hooper.’ 

‘I do not count to Sherlock Holmes.’ Molly says, though her voice waivers and her grip on Rosie’s hand tightens. Thank god the little girl is staying still and quiet behind her. 

The unknown man laughs again, almost doubling over as if the momentum hurts him. 

“Surely,’ she says, her voice carrying over the laughter. “You would not point a gun at someone who is holding a child.” 

“And yet here we are,’ he says, eyebrows raising. 

“Then at least let me get her to safety… please.” 

The man thinks for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he contemplates at her. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sherlock edge closer to her again. His eyes are hard, staring at the man with utter hatred. 

Then the man nods and Molly is moving. Through the crowd of people and towards the back of the ballroom. Rosie’s little feet struggle to keep up so Molly pulls her up into her arms as she spots Anthea at the back of the room. Anthea strides forwards to meet her and swings the little girl out of Molly’s arms and turns around without even batting an eyelid. Molly watches, her heart constricting in her chest, as Rosie turns in Anthea’s arms to look at her. Her little eyes are curious and she stretches out an arm for Molly. Then the doors to the ballroom close. 

Safe. 

She is safe.

‘Come back here, Molly, dear.’ 

Molly shudders at the sound of his voice and walks back into the centre of the circle. The onlookers watch her with curiosity that has them rooted in their spots. The gun is still pointed at her and she momentarily calculates if she’d be able to move out of the way in time. If she did someone behind her would surely be in her line of fire. 

‘As I was saying, it’s so interesting that Sherlock Holmes has made you think you didn’t matter. What was it your sister said, Sherlock?’ The man looks at Sherlock, gleam shining in his eyes as he walks closer to Molly until the barrel of the gun presses against her temple. ‘So many days unlived, so many words unsaid.’

Mollys breathing is becoming laboured as he speaks and the gun presses firmly against her temple. 

‘So intriguing, as well, that you’ve let everyone here believe that woman on your arm is who you truly care for. Including dear Molly here. Was it a kindness? Did you think it would save her?’ 

‘Who are you?’ Sherlock asks.

Molly looks behind Sherlock to where Irene Adler stands, even her eyes are wide as she takes in everything that is happening. Is she just as confused as Molly? The woman who Sherlock knew by not looking at her face. The woman Molly believed to have been dead until only yesterday where her heart broke anew and she swore to herself she would move on. _What’s happening?_

‘Who I am need not concern you. It’s who you are that is important. Oh, yes so very important. _I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir, because I'm not myself, you see._ ’ 

Molly recognises the Alice in Wonderland quote immediately, but it confuses her nonetheless. This man was insane. Not a sociopath like Sherlock, a psychopath. 

‘Quit with the fairytales and tell me what you want.’ 

‘Oh Sherlock, isn’t it obvious?’ 

Sherlock’s brows furrow, from the way his eyes swept over the man Molly can tell that he’s trying to deduce him. Why he is here and what is his purpose in _hurting_ Molly? _His Molly._

‘Oh there’s no point in that Sherlock. It’s really very boring, so very boring. Don’t just deduce me. Tell me.’ 

‘What is it exactly you want me to tell you?’ 

‘Did I say me? Oh silly me, silly, silly me. I meant her.’ The man turns his head to Molly and clicks the release of the gun.

‘No,’ Sherlock exclaimed moving in closer. 

Molly’s breathes are ragged and she wonders briefly if she’d be able to tell Sherlock she loves him one last time. Or if this psychopath will shoot her down before she has the chance. Her heart feels like it’s going into overdrive and she sees John jolt forward as well. 

Greg has also appeared out of nowhere, gun in hand and keeping it trained on the man. 

Sherlock raised a hand to Greg, silently ordering him to keep quiet. To stay still. 

‘What do you want me to say to Molly?’ Sherlock asked as he took another half a step forward. 

‘That’s quite close enough,’ the man said, hand raised to Sherlock as he looks back towards him. 

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ 

Sherlock’s jaw clenches at the familiarity of the words. 

‘I want to her you say it Sherlock. Not Molly. _You_.’

Molly realises instantly what the man was referring to. Having been debriefed by Mycroft himself on the matters of Sherrinford. 

‘You’re an idiot,’ Molly breathes and both Sherlock and the mad man’s eyes swing to her. 

‘What did you call me?’ ‘An idiot. A great, massive idiot. You’ve been watching me haven’t you?’

‘Of course, Molly, dear.’ 

‘And you’ve been watching Sherlock.’ Molly didn’t know where this sudden confidence has come from inside of her. All she knows is that she has to protect Sherlock and to protect herself. 

‘Then you should have realised that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect him,’ Molly says, indicating towards Sherlock. Whose eyes widen at her response. 

‘If you’ve been watching us for long enough you would know that I helped to fake his own death. That I am always around when he needs help on a case. And that I am always, without a shadow of a doubt, there when he relapses. There are many people in Sherlock’s world who don’t understand the lengths I have gone to to make sure that he doesn’t kill himself. The amount of times I have had my own heart ripped out of my chest at the expense of his own. There is nothing anyone could say to me to stop protecting him because I have always done it.’ 

The man just blinks at me in shock. ‘Well, Molly, that was quite unexpected, but it’s not you I wanted to hear–.’

‘I am not finished,’ Molly says taking a step further into the gun. ‘If you have been watching for me for long enough, which I seriously doubt you have, you would have known everything about me. But, I’m guessing, with my own version of Sherlock’s deductions, that you have only been watching us since Eurus Holmes. And since then you might have seen Sherlock coming to me and you might have known that he uses my flat as a bolt hole. But what you won’t know is what happened before Eurus Holmes. Or more importantly who I was friends with.’ 

Sherlock has edged so that he’s standing just an arms length away from the man as Molly speaks. His eyes are wide and he’s trying to stop his breathing coming out in erratic breathes at the sight of Molly stepping even further into the gun. Her words have triggered an emotion within him that he’s kept buried since the day he met her at university. One that he swore against everything that he would not give into – to keep her safe. But she is not safe. Not yet. ‘And who, Molly dear, were you friends with?’ 

‘One of the most important people in Sherlock’s life.’ 

‘Oh enough with this drama, who?’ the man says, rolling his eyes and moving slightly as if to grab her. 

‘Mary Watson.’ 

And with that Molly moves too quick and so suddenly the man doesn’t see it coming. She crashes her hand against the gun moving it upwards to it bashes into the mans face. He stumbles backwards in shock and shouts of alarm sounds around her. But Molly only focuses not he gun, she slams her foot against his own making him cry out in alarm and grab at her. But she dodges out of the way and thrusts her elbow into his gut, making him release the gun. With it firmly in her hand she steps back from him, pointing it directly at his face. 

Sherlock moves then tackling him to the ground and a sickening crunch sounds as he wrenches the mans shoulder out of place. Dislocated immediately. 

John rushes forward, the gun in his own hand trained on the man as he moves to asses Molly. Making she she is unharmed. Her breathing is laboured and her eyes are on fire. But she is otherwise not hurt. 

The crowd has begun to disperse, screaming and running for any available door. The danger has suddenly become all too real. 

The man looks up, blood pouring down his face and he uses the back of his uninjured hand to wipe away the blood. 

‘Oh interesting,’ he gets out, choking on his own blood. ‘So very interesting. Little Molly Hooper, not what I expected at all.’ 

‘I was friends with an assassin,’ Molly spits at him. ‘Of course she trained me to defend myself.’ 

Then the man is moving, ramming his fist into Sherlock’s gut and forcing him to double over. They move as if in a dance, each punch and grunt eating into Molly’s soul. And John Watson watches with unwavering focus, but there is too much flailing and he cannot get a good shot without hitting Sherlock. 

They’re moving towards the windows and Sherlock manages to get a punch on his face. His anger has gone deeper, deeper than he ever thought it could. He threw a man out of a window for harming Mrs Hudson; he shot a man in the face in cold murder for threatening to harm Mary; and this vile creature has now threatened his Molly. Sherlock only sees rage.

‘Oh Sherlock Holmes,’ the man laughs through his blood. ‘My cousin was very obsessed with you, and I’m going to finish what he started.’ 

‘Who was your cousin?’ 

‘Haven’t you figured it out yet?’ The man throws his head back in laughter. Edging closer and closer to the window. Molly keeps her gun trained on him, thanking Mary for all those months of training as she kept her hand steady. 

The man stops moving and inclines his head to Sherlock before whispering, ‘I’m going to burn the heart out of you.’ 

Then before any of them could move, he launches himself out of the window. Glass shattering all around them and Sherlock lurches to try and catch him. But as he looks out of the window, he realises to his utter horror that the man has landed on a lorry and it’s moving down the road out of his view. 

The clattering of a gun on the floor brings him back to reality and he only has time to watch as Molly’s face crumples and her legs give out underneath her. 

‘Molly,’ he whispers. Moving automatically towards her and scooping her up into his arms. Barking orders at Lestrade to find that man. He moves swiftly, past a shocked Irene Adler – not paying her a single glance, and with John tailing behind him on the phone, clearly ordering Mycroft to find out what the hell had just happened. 

But all Sherlock can focus on is Molly. Who has her head in her hands as sobs take over her. He strides out of the ballroom and down the grand staircase and directly into a black Mercedes that has pulled up outside. Inside the car Rosie’s little face greets him and his heart constricts at the sight of her. 

‘Rosie.’ John exclaims pulling the little girl into his arms as he gets in behind them. Sherlock secures Molly on his lap and pulls his coat off of one of the seats, no doubt Anthea’s doing, to wrap it around Molly’s shoulders as the car began to move. 

Molly’s sobs die down almost instantly at hearing Rosie and she tries to regain her focus. Sherlock runs a hand up and down her back and rests his head back against the headrest. 

Safe. 

She is safe. 

For now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ta dah?  
> What do you think?  
> I have an idea that could potentially make it into a series, but for now I will keep it as a standalone.
> 
> Also, I realise this flips between Molly and Sherlocks POV but I really wanted to get both of their feelings across!


End file.
